"What do you want, Annalise?"
Her lips twisted into a provocative smile. "Why don't you invite me in? I'll tell you all about it."
Checking his watch, he blew out a very audible sigh. "It's late."
She batted her eyelashes. "One drink. Please?"
God, give me strength.
"I've been waiting for you for hours. It's the least you can do."
Reluctantly, he strode past her to his door, unlocked it, and pushed it open. Brushing against him as she passed—a move orchestrated to look accidental—she breezed into his apartment. He followed, flipped on first the living room's overhead light, then the kitchen's. She turned and stood in the center of the small space, stunning in the glare of the harsh lights, a precious jewel in the midst of his garage-sale junk.
He hated himself for the comparison. Amanda had stood in that very spot, and he'd never thought of her that way. Though his wife was stunning, she didn't carry her beauty on her skin the way Annalise did.
"You said you wanted something to drink?" He stepped into the kitchen and opened the small refrigerator door. He knew exactly what was in there. The move gave him something to look at other than her. "I have apple juice, orange juice, milk, and water."
"I was thinking of something stronger. A glass of wine, perhaps?"
He looked at her over the top of the refrigerator door. "No wine. Sorry."
"Beer?"
He stifled a grunt. "Nope. Nothing alcoholic."
Her eyebrows rose in perfect arches. "You're kidding. That's okay. I think I have a bottle—"
"No. We're not going to sit here and drink together. Do you want anything or not?"
Her façade faltered. She frowned and shrugged. "Water, I guess."
He grabbed two bottles out of the fridge and slammed the door closed with his foot. Indicating the small round table in his kitchen, he unscrewed the top of one bottle of water and handed it to her before opening his own.
He sat first, and Annalise slid into the chair beside his. Beneath the table, their long legs touched at the knees. He shifted his chair to put space between them.
She took a sip of the water and set it on the table. Her long fingers drummed the side of the plastic bottle, the bright red fingernails tapping in the silence.
"Are you going to tell me why you're here?"
Shoulders slumped, Annalise sighed and met his eyes with a nervous smile. In an instant, he was transported back to high school. She was the tall beautiful new foreigner in school, he the short, dorky freshman. When their history teacher assigned them to work together on a project, Mark was both elated and terrified. But over the next few weeks, he learned a lot about Annie. She didn't know a soul in America and after six months at school, didn't have a single friend. The girls decided she was a threat from the very first, barely acknowledging her, and the boys were too in awe to talk to her. Mark got to know her—and like her. By Christmas their sophomore year, Mark finally surpassed her in height and worked up the nerve to ask her out. By the end of the year, they were in love.
Supermodel Annalise, though obviously attractive, had nothing on the girl sitting next to him right now. Insecure and shy, this was his Annie, the girl who'd stolen his heart at fifteen.
Mark swallowed and sat back, aware of where his thoughts were taking him. Careful.
Annalise shifted forward in the chair. "I was visiting my parents a few months ago, and I ran into your mother at Shaw's."
Mark squeezed his water bottle. It crinkled loudly. Of course his mother had something to do with this.
She lifted her hair and twisted it to one side, a nervous gesture he recognized. He pushed away a twinge of pity. He hadn't invited her. He didn't owe her anything but the truth.
"Anyway," she continued, "she wanted my cell phone number, said she was thinking of visiting New York." Annalise half-smiled. "She never did, and I don't live there anymore, so I thought I'd never hear from her. That was okay. It wasn't her I wanted to hear from anyway." Her gaze flicked to his, dropped to the table again. "She called last week and told me you're getting a divorce."
Mark stiffened. "I'm not getting a divorce."
"Oh. Well, your mother said she'd talked to your wife, and—"
"I'm not getting a divorce."
She pushed the water bottle out of the way, rested her elbow on the table, and dropped her chin into her palm. "You sound pretty confident for a guy living in an apartment, alone."
"This is temporary. We're getting back together. Soon. That's where I was tonight—with my wife, at my house."
"And yet," her eyes scanned the room, "here you are."
Mark sat back and crossed his arms.
"I guess Amanda's loss is my gain."
"No. It's not."
Her Jujube lips lifted at the corners. "Do you remember what I said to you the day we talked on your front porch, the day you brought her home to meet your parents?"
How could he forget? "Her name is Amanda, and honestly, what I remember is worrying about what she was thinking."
Annalise's mouth opened in a shocked little O. She sat back and crossed her arms. "Well, in case you forgot, I told you that day that you were my first and only love."
"And like I said, you made your choice."
"No, I was stupid." She spat the word. "If I could go back and do it again, I would choose you."
"But you can't go back, Annalise. And neither can I. You wanted to be a model, and you went after your dreams. I never begrudged you that. And I wanted to go into the service, and I went after mine. You went to New York, I went to the Academy. I knew when we split that summer it was over, and I was right. Your career took off, and you forgot all about me."
"I'm sorry, Mark. I was so focused on my career, but now—"
"Now it's too late. It's been too late for a long time. I'm sorry if you have feelings for me, but I don't return them."
"You do! Of course you do." She reached for his hand, but he slid it beneath the table. She left her arm stretched toward him. "You don't have to pretend with me. We both know who you turned to when you needed a shoulder to cry on. And it wasn't her."
"Don't."
"I was there for you, Mark. Your parents announced their divorce, and where was she? She couldn't be bothered to join you for your first Christmas home from the war. But I was there. I comforted you. I gave myself to you that night."
Mark pushed his chair back and stood. "I'm sorry. I should never have . . . It was wrong." He raked his fingers through his hair and paced. "I was so angry—with my stupid parents for announcing their divorce two days before Christmas, with Amanda for not being there. And you were there, and . . . I'm sorry. It didn't mean anything."
She turned in her chair and met his eyes. He saw her tears hovering, threatening to spill over. "It meant something to me."
He took three long steps into his living room and collapsed on his sofa, burying his head in his hands. "I never meant to hurt you. But I can't give you what you want. I love my wife. I have since the moment I laid eyes on her." He met her gaze. "You don't even know me. Besides that one night, we haven't been together in almost twenty years."
She stood and crossed her arms. "So you used me, like every other man. I thought you were different." She swiped away her tears. "What a fool I am."
Mark looked away. He couldn't be swayed by her emotions. "I wish I could go back and undo that night. I can't tell you how much I regret it."
"But not for my sake. For your precious little pixie—that's why you regret it."
Irritation prickled his skin like a thousand needles. A little pixie? How like her to judge another woman based on nothing but her height. Unfortunately, everything else Annalise said was true. He'd hardly thought of Annalise's feelings after that terrible night. When he'd showed up at the house to find Amanda at his kitchen table with his mother, a desperate lie had flown out of his mouth. He'd been at his father's, that's what he told her. Later, he'd taken his cell phone into the bathroom to
call his father and beg him to back up his story.
His father had counseled him to never tell Amanda the truth. "She'll never forgive you," he'd said. And he would know. His dad strayed once in his marriage, and Mark's mother never forgave him. After years of making him pay for his adultery, she'd squeezed every ounce of joy out of his life until he had nothing left, and then she'd divorced him.
Amanda could never know about his night with Annalise. It hadn't meant anything, and he refused to lose her over it.
Annalise grabbed her water off the table, took a long sip, and slammed it back down. "Well, what's done is done. We're neighbors now."
Neighbors? The word hit him, the implications. The Porsche, the boxes—they belonged to Annalise? He jumped up from the seat. "No, you can't stay."
"I got a job in Boston, working for an agent, scouting young talent." Her voice was nonchalant. "I was living with a friend, but I wanted to get out of the city, and Norwell seems nice."
"Please, don't do this."
"It's too late, Mark. I've already moved in."
"I'll reimburse you whatever it costs. Why in the world would you move into this crappy building, anyway?"
She stared at the floor. "To be near you."
He squelched the wave of pity. Annalise made her own decisions. But what would Amanda do when she found out? This would push her away for good.
Amanda wanted him out of this place, and though he hoped to move home soon, he couldn't stay here with Annalise living across the hall, not even for a month. He'd look into the apartments Amanda suggested. Maybe he could take a short-term lease. Or maybe crash on Chris's couch.
"There's something else," Annalise whispered, breaking into his thoughts.
Her face had colored, and his heart hammered. "What?"
"When I talked to your mom last week . . . You have to understand, she said you were getting a divorce. I didn't know you were trying to work things out, or I wouldn't have, but . . ."
"But what?"
"I told her about that night. I told her you and I slept together. And, well, I guess, since she seemed happy about the divorce, I wonder if she'll tell your wife."
Nineteen
Amanda dropped the girls off at school the next morning. They'd grumbled and complained all morning—the price of too much candy and too little sleep. But their crankiness didn't dampen her high spirits.
While she waited to exit the school parking lot, she dialed her lawyer, who answered on the second ring. "I want you to hold off filing the papers."
"You sure about this?"
"Absolutely." She'd promised to wait a month. Maybe she'd hold off forever. Forever sounded good.
"All right. I'll put the file away until I hear otherwise."
That chore done, Amanda slipped the phone into the pocket of her navy blue sweat suit and cranked up the oldies station. She sang out loud to the music, only stopping when she turned her car into her driveway and saw Mark's truck. Her heart skidded to a halt, then picked up speed. She smiled so wide, her cheeks hurt as she climbed from the car. What was he doing here? Maybe he couldn't wait to see her again. He loved her. Amanda thought she might float from the car.
Mark was sitting on her front step, his head propped on his hands. He looked up, and she froze in place. The soaring joy of a moment before collapsed like an undercooked soufflé. "What happened?"
His lips lifted at the corners just a touch—not a smile so much as a herculean effort not to frown. "Will you go for a ride with me?"
"Where?"
"Just for a ride."
She climbed into the passenger's seat of his pickup truck, inhaling the familiar scent of aftershave and sawdust. He closed the door behind her and slid into the driver's seat a moment later.
Without a word of explanation, Mark turned the car north.
How long had it had been since she'd been in his truck? A couple of months at least. Though it was a nice vehicle, Mark hated it. Or maybe it wasn't the truck so much as the work it represented. He hated construction. But the only other thing he felt qualified to do, she'd begged him not to pursue. His dream job had been to work for the FBI or CIA, but he'd turned down both of their offers. She remembered too well her debilitating fear while Mark was fighting in Afghanistan, certain one day she would learn the love of her life had been killed on some dusty patch of earth in the middle of nowhere. She couldn't face that every day of her life. Reluctantly, he'd let his dream go and pursued her instead.
And so he worked construction and drove a truck. How selfish she'd always been. How generous he'd been in return.
How had she ever considered divorcing him?
He cleared his throat. He was obviously upset, but she wasn't worried. Whatever happened, they'd deal with it together.
Both of his hands squeezed the steering wheel. She reached across the front seat and touched his right wrist. He let go of the steering wheel and held her hand. He felt warm and safe, but his mouth was turned down at the corners, the tiny wrinkles around his eyes more pronounced.
"What's going on, Mark?"
He squeezed her hand. "Let's just ride for a few minutes. Do you have to be back at any particular time?"
She'd already called her lawyer. She'd posted her daily blog before she left the house. She'd planned to work on her edits, but somehow her latest book seemed unimportant as she considered the look on her husband's face. "I'm free till the girls get out of school."
"Good."
He wound his way toward the beach, though it wasn't a good day for a walk in the sand. Overcast skies and a cool breeze would keep her in the truck, but she knew how he loved the ocean.
The hope that had filled her since their conversation the night before staggered. "You're scaring me. Can you please tell me what's going on?"
His gaze flicked to hers. "Okay." He made a sharp left turn—they were definitely headed to Nantasket—straightened the car, and sighed. "I love you, Amanda. I fell in love with you the first moment I laid eyes on you. My feelings for you have grown stronger ever since."
She swallowed. "Okay."
"What I'm about to tell you . . . Please remember how much I love you. Last night, when I got home, Annalise was there."
"At your apartment? How . . . ?" Her voice rose. "You told her we were separated?"
"No, I didn't. I haven't spoken to her in years. But when you told my mother, she called Annalise."
"Oh. Of course. I should've seen that coming."
Mark glanced at her. She shrugged.
"There's more. See, the apartment across the hall from mine was empty, and Annalise rented it."
"She moved in?"
"Uh-huh. Yesterday. She has a job in Boston, and I guess she decided, if I was getting a divorce—"
"Your mother told her we were getting a divorce?"
"Yeah. Did you . . . ? I mean, I wasn't sure exactly what you'd said to her."
"I told her we were separated. I didn't use the D-word."
Mark smirked. "Wishful thinking on Mom's part, I guess."
"Well, sure. And what a great way to try to get between us. You gotta hand it to Pat. She might breathe fire, but she's clever."
Mark almost smiled. "So, I'm going to move out as soon as I can find somewhere else to go."
Amanda studied his profile, his beautiful strong jaw, his troubled eyes. Was it too soon for him to move back in with her? She stifled a giggle. After last night, she knew she wanted him back.
"Why don't you—?"
"There's more."
They both spoke at the same time. Amanda swallowed. "Okay."
"Thank you for being so rational about it. I really appreciate that. And you . . . you've always stood by me. If you knew . . . I mean, you don't know the things I did when I was deployed."
She blinked at the change in direction. "Mark, you were a soldier. Of course you—"
"When I got home, all I wanted was you and my family and everything to be . . . right. It was so crazy over there, and I needed thin
gs to feel normal."
"That makes sense." He'd been different after he returned from the war. More serious. More intense. As time went on, the Mark she'd fallen in love with returned, and though he was different, she loved him just the same. Six months after he returned from Afghanistan, Mark was discharged from the Marines and moved to Providence to be near her. He proposed on Thanksgiving, and she'd accepted. And then there was that disastrous holiday.
"I'm sorry about that Christmas, if that's what you're thinking about," she said, though she'd apologized for it many times. "I didn't understand how important it was for me to be with you. I didn't really grasp what you'd been through in Afghanistan. Not that I do now, but . . ." She let her voice trail off. "And of course, I didn't know about your parents' divorce. Still, I should've been by your side. I was insensitive and selfish, and I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize to me, Amanda."
"But—"
He turned to her, eyes burning in intensity. "Don't."
Her words choked to a stop. There was something terribly wrong, something bigger than Annalise moving in across the hall.
He slowed into a parking space along the narrow stretch of beach and stared out at the waves. Tension filled the space between them, thick as peanut butter and just as clear. Minutes passed while she watched him. She couldn't stand the silence, but she didn't know what to say.
He turned to her and pulled her hand into his again. "I love you."
She smiled tentatively. "I love you, too."
It was the first time she'd said those words to him in months. Yet his countenance fell as though she'd hurt him.
"That Christmas . . ." He dropped her hand and crossed his arms, looking past her. Avoiding her eyes.
She didn't want to know. Something terrible was coming, and she didn't want to know.
"I was really upset, and nothing was going the way I'd expected. When I was in Afghanistan, I'd think about the future. Sometimes, I think that's what kept me alive—thinking about you. I hoped by the holidays, we'd be engaged, and I'd imagine us together, you and me. And I'd fantasize about Christmas. My parents would be so happy about our engagement, and we would all hang around and play games and open presents. And then, you weren't there. And they were getting a divorce. And everything felt so wrong, and it was like, suddenly, I had no idea who I was. Like, if my parents didn't love each other, and you weren't there, maybe you didn't really love me. Maybe . . . I thought maybe it really was all just a fantasy. I felt so alone."
Finding Amanda Page 18